


In Ruins

by rainydayadvocate



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Chocolate Box Exchange 2018, F/M, Guilt, Hair Braiding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-06
Updated: 2018-02-06
Packaged: 2019-03-14 14:14:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13591797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainydayadvocate/pseuds/rainydayadvocate
Summary: Her son brought about the destruction of her brother's new Jedi Order, and Leia is dealing with it the only way she knows how—reverting back into military mode. When Han arrives, however, she realizes what she needs more than anything is her husband.





	In Ruins

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ljparis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ljparis/gifts).



> I hope you don't mind, but I combined your Sequel Trilogy bittersweet request with your Original Trilogy unbraiding hair request. You're cool with that, right? Right.

Leia has not seen Luke since that morning. The Jedi Temple still smoldered and filled the previously untainted air with smoke, the ruins seeming to mourn as much as this hidden planet's occupants did.

She and Luke spent the morning retrieving the dead, covering them, making them decent in their untimely deaths. Their purely evil deaths. Luke kept trying to say that it was all his fault, but Leia repeatedly brushed him off. They both knew better. She and her brother would carry mutual and shared guilt for their rest of their lives, but they were not to blame. Snoke was to blame, and Ben was to blame.

Her lunch wasn't much—a loaf of bread with some cheese and cured meat—but Leia could barely finish it. She sat at a makeshift table of crates and penned the condolence letters to the padawans' families. Luke offered, but she could see in his eyes that he was not ready. Besides, Leia had more practice. Though, as she finished the last one, she had to admit these letters were harder to write than those of war heroes who died for the sake of the Rebellion, even those who died from a command she issued. None of these children had to die.

Her Father, late one night in a particularly melancholy mood, had shared with her the horror of Order 66. Yesterday was not the first time the Jedi Order had been obliterated by a skilled Jedi tempted by the Dark Side. When he father told the story, of approaching the Jedi Temple to see Vader slaughter a teenage padawan, she felt a pang of sadness, but nothing more. When she relived in now in her nightmares, seeing the face of her biological father, it brought gut-wrenching sorrow and confusion. The emotion those nightmares stirred in her was nothing compared to the anguish she felt now, the mother of a murderer.

A piece of cheese had been in her hand, ready to eat, for nearly fifteen minutes when the sound of thrusters pulled her back out of her thoughts. In the clearing beside her shuttle, the _Millennium Falcon_ lowered its landing gear and settled into the soft foliage.

The Han Solo who walked down the ramp was not the man she had known as a 19-year-old princess. He was a hardened war hero, a man who could not find his place in the galaxy, and both had worn the swagger out of his walk. His wordless approach was exactly what Leia needed, because she wasn't sure if she could speak. His strong arms enveloped her, and the only thing she felt in that moment was his breathing and warmth. Her arms rubbed up and down his back, and she took a moment to let her husband protect her.

Neither wanted to pull away, and when they finally pulled apart, it was only so Han could wipe a tear from her face. His hand slid down to cradle her jaw, and she leaned into his touch. "We've lost him," she whispered, turning to press a kiss into his palm.

"What are we going to do, Leia? What do you need me to do?"

Leia only every really considered things she _wanted_ Han to do. When the life and death situations faded into politics and racing, they had, in many ways, stopped needing each other. Their relationship had become a thing of want. She had almost forgotten how to need Han. But not quite.

Her silence lasted too long, and Han jumped to conclusions. He stepped away and rubbed the back of his neck. "Well, I mean, I could load the, uh, victims onboard. It makes sense to return them home on the _Falcon_ , doesn't it?"

"Yes, I thought the _Falcon_ would be most appropriate for that."

"Well, I'll start on that." He swallowed and turned away from her, his eyes falling over the bodies wrapped in fire-singed linen.

Just as he started to move to the first stretcher, Leia reached out and touched his arm. He stopped, but didn't turn to her. She had to walk around to face him again. As she did so, she reached up to cup her hands around his face. "Yes, Han. The dead need to be honored, and I think it only appropriate that we finish this. But—you are here because we need each other right now. Right? Don't we?"

Their eyes met for a long moment, and Leia couldn't help but smile at the corner of her mouth. She'd gotten lost in those eyes so many times before. If she held his gaze long enough, she would do anything he wanted. Luckily, typically whatever he wanted also happened to be what was on Leia's mind. When he closed the gap between them to kiss her, she wasn't surprised. His lips were so comfortable, so _right_ , against her own that she just melted into him, allowing the muscles in her shoulders to relax for the first time all day. It had been nearly six months since she'd seen him, and nothing could have been more healing that his kiss in that moment.

She pulled back to weave her fingers through his. He squeezed her hand and let her lead him back onto the _Falcon_. Leia hadn't actually been on board in a couple of years, never having a need when Han came home.

Home. Home had never been Hosnian Prime, or Chandrila, or Coruscant, or any of the other worlds in the Republic's rotation of Capital Cities. They were a place of residence for one half of this marriage, but their home together was this ship. It had always been this ship.

It smelled just like it always did—dirt with a hint of spice. A few more panels had fallen off, and the hallway panel she'd attempted to clean on her last visit was just as dirty as its neighbors again. The only thing that surprised Leia was the mattress. Once in the captain's cabin and seated cross-legged on Han's bed, she turned back to him in surprise. "This is new."

"I do replace things from time to time," he replied, a Han Solo grin flashing momentarily on his face.

She smiled and turned back around, taking a deep breath. This was her favorite ritual. While Han would publicly say he much preferred what came after, she suspected he enjoyed it as much as she did. She felt his weight lower the bed behind her, sitting as close to her as he could. His shins rested against the small of her back and she smiled expectantly.

It was hard to explain to a non-Alderaanian the sensation of letting someone else take your hair down. The Alderaanian tradition of braiding and the letting down of braids was so deeply spiritual and physically satisfying, it was beyond words. When Han's hands found the edges of her hair, she couldn't help but moan.

Over the years, her husband has become quite skilled as unbraiding. Han could tell by feel which pieces were pinned last, and had an uncanny ability to find hidden clips and pins. Rarely did any surprise pins surface during hair brushing. His rough hands delicately maneuvering a pin away from the mourning braid she wore across the front of her hair sent a shiver down her back. Soon all of her twisted hair was free, and Han took his time locating all the pins before releasing her braided bun down her back. His fingers tickled against her back while he worked the braid itself loose.

His weight shifted behind her up the bed, leaning out towards the end table. He opened the drawer and pulled out one of Leia's finest brushes. It was one of the few things she still had from Alderaan, recovered from her Coruscant apartment after the end of the war. The handle was a blue swirled piece of agate, the rest of the brush gilded in silver filigree. She had always considered it too gaudy, but she had come to treasure it. She was ashamed she hadn't known it was on the _Falcon_ all this time, but she was also glad it had been here.

Han's touch with a brush was just as gentle as while he unbraided. The tingles that erupted over her whole body from the sensation caused another moan to slip out. She almost turned to kiss him, but then the brushing would have stopped. Besides, Han does not like to be interrupted while brushing. He considers it his duty to work out every kink and curl with just the brush; if he hasn't done that, he's failed.

It could have been five minutes or twenty, but when Han broke the silence and hair brushing rhythm, it startled Leia. "I'm so sorry," he said.

About what?" She tried to turn to face him, but he went back to brushing, forcing her to keep looking forward. "Why do you need to be sorry?"

"Leia. I'm never here. I've never been here. I let him down as a father. I should have been around more."

"Han." She scooted around until she faced him, resting her hands on his knees. "We did the best we could. You running fewer races would not have prevented this."

He sighed and closed his hands over hers. "It wouldn't have hurt. If I'd been more present, maybe he wouldn't have been so fascinated by his grandfather. We raised a murderer, Leia, I—"

She cut him off with a finger across his lips. "Han, stop. We did not give Ben a bad life. You were always there for him. He knew what you were up to better than I did. You may not have been in the apartment, but you were never absent. As achingly difficult as it is to shove the guilt aside, we have to accept and know this is not our fault. Because it isn't."

His fingers found her hair, threading through her smooth, unbraided strands. She closed her eyes and enjoyed the sensation of his dancing fingers. "How can you say that with such confidence, Princess? Isn't it our duty to accept responsibility?"

"For our son's actions? No." She got up on her knees and leaned in to kiss him deeply. He returned it with a surprised yelp and a moan. When she pulled back, he pouted at her. "What matters a great deal more is what we do next. Ben is confused, he was spooked. The Dark Side won out this time, but it doesn't have to forever."

"I don't think I can be that optimistic."

"And that is exactly why we need it each other, Han. Maybe you can't be optimistic, but I usually have too much optimism. You are my balance, and right now—I need that more than anything." And she did. For the first time, in a very long time, Leia could admit that she needed Han. And it felt good.

The conversation was over for now. There would be other days, other rendezvouses to worry about Ben, and how they could help them. For now, she needed to feel balanced, to feel normal. As her husband gripped her shoulder and nudged her down onto the bed, as he slid one hand through her hair while the other tugged at her skirts, she knew one thing for certain: whenever she needed him, truly needed him, Han Solo would be there.


End file.
